All Fired Up
by LaDexter
Summary: Meredith Peters attempts to contain herself after being fired from Winslow High, but soon finds herself on an attempt to get some sort of revenge on her employer, however small.


The ceiling was so unamusing. After all, she had gotten bored of the same setting an hour after she retired to her bed.  
  
She had never been fired before. A positive reaction, or one without grief was not something she had become accustomed to do. All she wanted was revenge. However, she didn't how to approach it or exactly what to do.  
  
Another thing Meredith wasn't aware of was who to place her vengeance on. The man who fired her? Her student, Marcie Kendal who had originated the claim of her striking her? Whoever she was going to seek vengeance on was to be decided at a later date. She was hardly in the mood for decisions.  
  
Her mood didn't much matter as the phone rattled on the night table behind her back. She groaned and attempted to roll over but didn't have the energy. There she lay, her purple outfit wrinkled amidst the bed, her high heels still on and gouging into the pillow at the bottom of the queen size mattress.  
  
Energy prevailed as she swung herself over, nearly knocking the lamp to the floor and picked up the phone.  
  
"Hello." She answered, and it was not possible to sound any less excited.  
  
"Hello Meredith, it's Scott calling. This may seem kind of shrewd under the circumstances, but I'd like to apologize on account of ruining our relationship over a school related matter. Under another situation, we may have been able to work things out, but unfortunately, this was not the case."  
  
She hurled the phone at the wall in front of her as a wail crept out of her sullen throat. Then, she went back to staring at the ceiling, the image of shattered phone now gone. This would be the last hallucination that would take place in her mind for the time being, or so she told herself as she leapt forward off the bed and walked down the hallway, her sloes clanking on the linoleum.  
  
During the next two hours, she would prepare a short meal, worry about her son's whereabouts, but not as much as she would worry about herself. The fork banged against her teeth as she concentrated on how to react to her firing. It would then drop to her plate and splash in the food as she grabbed her keys, purse and slammed the door behind her. Kids ran across the street in front of the bow of her car and she attempted to wipe the tears from her face so they would become visible to her. She cuffed the turn and bounced off the curb but regained her position on the road. The school letters became visible to her freshly wiped eyes as she neared the campus.  
  
She noticed the lights on inside many of the rooms and hoped that along with the janitors, there would be Scott. Sitting in his office, all alone, thinking about Meredith. Or so she would hope. No longer would she able to think about what he was thinking; she wouldn't be able to brush his face and read his expressions.  
  
She parked the car and locked it as her heels now clanked on the pavement. The door creaked when she opened it and she waltzed in, looking both ways before turning left to the office. She passed a couple of janitors on the way that didn't ask about her mascara all the way to her cheeks and her knees bending with each step. They did notice them however. Also, they noticed the tears dripping onto the floor, angry because they would have to clean it up. When she approached the stained glass door, she knocked only once before aggressively opening only to find an empty chair with a briefcase on it. She recognized the briefcase. The only item Scott would take with him on his nights over. The only thing he took with him to school each morning. She turned behind her and to her surprise, the halls were empty. The only thing she could hear was the sound of the mop squelching the floor in a distant separate hallway. She cornered the desk, her hip lightly brushing it and knocking a few papers to the floor. The leather strap fit nicely into her sweaty hand She set it on her shoulder and walked out of the office, forgetting to close the door.  
  
Instead of going the way she had come, she went opposite and out the front door. It took her a while to find where she had parked her car and finally, she placed the stolen briefcase down on the seat beside her and drove away.  
  
Whatever kind of tainted revenge it was, she felt pleased, like she had accomplished something. Petty revenge it was, but it would give her something else to stare at. 


End file.
